It's the world viewed by an irrational recovering depressive chef who's kinda smart and sometimes humorous, neurotic, with a bit of anxiety.

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Food Memories in the Future

We all have food memories. Many chefs are inspired by those remembrances and cook based on those flavors and recollection of the times in their lives that those food tastes represent. It’s not actually what I’ve done during my tenure as a professional cook but as a chef moving forward it’s something I’d like to change. I’m not sure what the future holds for me professionally, but I do know I’m feeling good and am ready to get back to work. I’ll do things on my terms and I’ll be inspired by my memories. I’ve earned it.

I cannot decide which is my favorite pizza, sausage and mushroom or anchovies and hot peppers. When I was a kid we would order three eight-cut pizzas for our family of six. Two were plain cheese and the other was sausage and mushrooms which was for my father and oldest brother, both deceased. Eating that pizza always reminds me of them and those times. We also got Pepsi in glass bottles when we had pizza so it’s even better with an ice-cold Pepsi. Anchovy and hot pepper pizza just tastes so damn good. I don’t tolerate hot peppers like I used to.

Veal Marsala was the last dish I plated at the long lamented Theresa’s Italian Grill.

I remember as a kid my mother made a dish we called noodles and eggs. It was made from a soft egg and flour dough rolled to about 1/8 inch thick and cut into approximately 1/2 inch by 1 1/2 inch strips. They were then boiled until floating then cooled then cooked in beaten eggs, like making scrambled eggs (more noodles than eggs). This was my sister Elaine’s favorite dish and she would always request it on her birthday, which she shared with her twin brother Dan. I’m not sure it was his favorite, but it was a mainstay on October 22. I don’t think my mother has made it since June 13, 2000 which was 3 days before Elaine’s death. I’ve never made the dish but I think my daughter Stella whose middle name is Lainey, the name I called my sister, would like the dish, it’s time to make it.

I grew up in a home that didn’t have a lot of extra money, my mother worked and my father often worked two jobs and dinners were sometimes of the frugal nature. As a child I wasn’t really aware that some of the meals were on the table due to their low-cost, and it often didn’t matter as we loved many of those meals. One of the few things I remember my father making was fried dough. He would hand-stretch small pieces of pizza dough and fry them up into puffy misshapen pillows and feed them to a plate on the table where my brothers, sister, and I would grab at the hot stack wanting to get butter and sugar on one before it cooled. I need to make that soon as well, my kids would love that as much as my siblings and I did.

Vegans are real people too.

Another dish my father served me was bananas and milk. I recall having a dentist appointment and my mother had gone to work and I was home with dad who gave me a breakfast of sliced bananas with milk and sugar sprinkled on top. I recall how simply delicious it was. Well, I went to the dentist, had nitrous oxide, had a tooth filled, woke up and vomited. I don’t remember where the communication failed, but I wasn’t supposed to eat before the appointment.

Perhaps it was that lack of communication that contributed to my parents splitting up when I was 12. The first meal I had at my Dad’s apartment was spaghetti and meatballs, it was one of his favorites and one of the few things he could make. I do remember the salad all these years later. It was iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, red onion, and canned black olives. What I really remember is the way it was dressed. Poured on in this order was olive oil, a heavy dose of salt, red wine vinegar, and a little liquid from the olive can. It’s still my favorite salad and I have it at home in that way or close very often.

The other person that made salad like that was my first wife’s grandmother. There were a lot of Sundays at her house in Troy eating hand rolled pasta and a pot of Sunday sauce. The pork neck bones that simmered in the sauce were such an important part of that meal for me. The flavor of melted connective tissue and cartilage dug out from between the small bones with tender bits of meat remains one of those flavors that I enjoy with my eyes closed. There was also a uniqueness to her sauce, and her arrival at that taste remained a secret to pretty much everyone who ate there. One day she whispered the secret it in my ear.

Whenever you showed up at her house, expected or not, you were going to have a meal.

While living in Troy when Theresa was quite young, I would take her to The Vanilla Bean Bakery on Saturday mornings to pick out a Sesame Street cupcake.

The first dinner I ever made was chicken cacciatora at eight years old. I make it differently now.

After my running career was over at Siena I decided that I would continue running competitively and see how far I could go. Between some income from coaching and a bit of prize money from racing I made an ok living. I shared an apartment with a couple of fellow runners in Albany and we would eat elbow macaroni and jarred sauce quite often. One treat we had was a spaghetti with clams dish that one of my roommates made once in a while. It was canned clams, sliced onions, garlic, cooking wine, oregano and the pasta. It was like a bad recipe you’d see posted on Facebook but it was a break from the other stuff we ate and I really enjoyed it.

Jim Rua at Café Capriccio showed me the best way to make pasta with clams.

The first thing I learned to make at Café Capriccio was eggplant with 4 cheeses. Brilliantly simple, and simply brilliant.

The first time I ate foie gras was during the summer of 2003 while working as a line cook at The Lodge in Saratoga. The culinary staff included Jaime Ortiz, Brian Molino, and Ken Kehn.

At the beginning of our relationship, Jenn and I would spend considerable time having cocktails on Caroline St. in Saratoga. I recall one night at about 2am we hit a popular late-night food joint for what was my first doughboys. I soaked them in jalapeno sauce and gobbled them down. Delicious. I gave Jenn a hot sauce kiss and her lips have been on fire ever since.

Also, early in our relationship we were strolling through downtown Saratoga and hit the same popular late-night food joint for some more doughboys. They’re horrible things during the day.

Obsessive compulsive pizza nut question for you: What kind of hot poppers do you like on your pizza?

One of my food memories is a cookie my grandmother used to make. Being very creative, we call them “Grandma Cookies.” Basically a butter cookie rolled and cut into different shapes and then topped with cinnamon sugar. Making them has become a Thanksgiving tradition.

Aside from all the cherry peppers my garden produced this year, I also got lots of jalapenos. I pickled almost all of them, made hot sauce with some, and added some to my tomatillo relish. It was a good season for hot peppers.

I had a few plants of Calabrian peppers that I grew from seed. The hot spell in September is the only reason they turned red. Made some hot honey with them and froze the rest to make a chili oil (for on top of pizza).

I’m reading the pizzamaking.com pizza forum all the time. One member posted about a pizza. I tried it and really like the topping combination. Been making variations of it whenever I make pizza. No sauce, just fresh mozzarella. Dried cranberries that have been re-hydrated in rum, sausage and jalapeno. Hot honey and fresh basil post-bake. I was thinking of trying it with a fresh cherry hot next time.

I get it. Vegans make your job hard. I’m old enough to appreciate how nice it is when things go your way at work. I love easy days, too. The House tax reform bill, if passed, would eliminate the tax exemption on bonds issued to build affordable housing. If passed, my industry is all but gone and half of the annual supply of new affordable apartments is gone. So I’m having a bad day. I feel your pain. Change is hard. What to do? I hope you’re well.

Such beautiful memories of food and family. I have similar recollections of wonderful moments from my youth, when my grandparents were still alive and we celebrated holidays in their Brooklyn home.
Why did you put in that comment about vegans being bad people? It confused me and then I became so sad. I was enjoying your article and feeling such a lovely connection, but out of nowhere, a random insult.
I work as a mental health therapist and hear stories of pain, loss and struggle every day. I encourage people to keep going, don’t give up and find a way to heal.
To instigate negativity. To randomly insult a group of people. Is that what the world needs right now? Is that what our community needs?
You are a talented chef, with strong influence. I am not a bad person. I am vegan. I am Lacey. I am Jewish. I love my family, my husband, my dog and so much more. Nice to meet you.

Lacey,
Thank you for reading. I’m under the impression that this is your first time reading Tuesday. My mockery of vegans is an ongoing thread and should not be taken too seriously. Clearly vegans are real and the absurd statement is as silly as it sounds.